


always getting further away.

by onlyeli



Category: Unwind Dystology - Neal Shusterman
Genre: brotherly affection bitches, this is sad tho haha kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:01:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeli/pseuds/onlyeli
Summary: Connor has two options, and a little brother.





	

a thunderclap from overhead drags him out of his thoughts, and for the first time since he sat down, connor lassiter feels the rain.

the overpass isn’t somewhere he comes alone - usually, he’s with ariana, and they live the rebellious teenage fantasy of pretending they were changing something. those days, he isn’t chased by inadequacy, and he can lose himself in her oddly coloured eyes, the smile that looked like none of his business. now, however, there’s no one beside him, and a storm on the horizon. he shifts, hanging one lacklustre leg over the side, letting his sneaker chase each car before it vanishes from sight. the rain comes down hard, and his dark hair is soon flattened against his scalp and hanging in his eyes. he’d like to think that his parents would worry about him being caught in this weather: it’s still hard to accept that they’d signed an unwind order, and the only thing they’d be concerned about now was the sum of his parts.

the way he sees it, he has two options. one, kick AWOL and send the whole district into mass panic. he was nothing if not explosive, and bad luck seemed to be attracted to him, just like the girls who asked him where he spent all his alone time. chances are, he’d be caught and shipped off before he even got out of the state. AWOL unwinds were desperate - something he never cared about until he was considering becoming one.

the other option is less favourable, but strangely fitting. he peers over the edge of the overpass and thinks the same thought he’s had every single time he gets up to leave: if i slipped and fell, it would kill me. and even if it didn’t, the cars would. no one stops in this town; everyone’s always got somewhere better to be.

then there’s the contradiction: they’d patch me up with unwind parts.

not if they want me unwound in the first place, his brain snaps back. they want rid of me - what should it matter how it happens? ether way, i should be in bits -

he knows he’s impulsive: it comes with the reckless abandon everyone who hates themselves seem to have. that’s why, when he stands up, a surge of fear pulses through him - like he might actually do it.

it’s slick under his worn sneakers - the rain provides the perfect excuse. in his mind’s eye, he can see it oh so clearly: a short plummet, and then blackness. pain has this way of fading that makes you unsure if you ever even felt it.

a few seconds of silent deliberation follow, before the thunder decides it’s getting impatient and claps again, as if to wake him up. the rain comes down harder.

–

the stomp home is a short one, but it’s elongated because he’s soaked to the skin and it’s only getting worse. he’s glad he left his phone at home before he came out - without it, he wouldn’t be able to plan this effectively. with only a weak smile in response to his mother’s plastic worry, he takes himself upstairs, away from the fake air of it all. unfair to them, to make them see him so often, and unfair to him, only making him angrier. it’s lucas that he can’t escape.

his younger brother creeps slowly into his room around twenty minutes after his watery return, and connor feels the spike of irrational anger that has become a second skin in the recent weeks. the innocent eyes, the naive little smile - lucas knows nothing about what’s going to happen to him, and connor would be surprised if he even knew how regular an occurrence unwinding was. they were taught the basic idea: it was connor and his knack for teaching himself that accomplished the rest.

“con,” lucas begins, and connor winces. he hates being called that - a portion of his real name, a manageable part that slipped by everyone as easy as unwinding. “you missed dinner today.”

“i miss dinner every day,” he says with a smile. “i ate with ariana, it’s all good.” there’s no bite to his tone: often it’s easier to be genuine in the dark. the storm still grumbles outside, disgruntled that it isn’t allowed to see.

“i never see you anymore. i wanted to tell you i have a baseball game next month. it’s to get to state.”

connor’s heart sinks, but his face doesn’t falter. “you’re gonna go to state?”

“no, i’m gonna play to -”

barking a laugh that makes the corner of lucas’ mouth twitch, connor leaps off of his mattress and wraps an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, ruffling his hair just hard enough to send it askew. “my little brother, going to state! lucas lassiter, star pitcher, he’s going for a swerve ball -”

releasing lucas, connor slips easily into the voice of a pre-war announcer, rattling off names of famous players that were supposedly fielding. hefting his arms before him, he nods to lucas, who gets the idea instantly. waving and whistling to a crowd that doesn’t exist, he turns with a fire in his eyes that connor had only ever seen in the mirror.

“and - he’s ready! ladies and gentlemen, hold onto your socks -” his rambling is cut short as lucas pitches an invisible ball, and connor makes a great show of missing. “did you see that, folks? the ball burned a hole straight into ground! that’s lightning lucas lassiter, a name for the ages!” the commentary dissolves into laughter as lucas barrels into him playfully, and the boys wriggle and shove at each other before slumping to a rest, out of breath and snickering. a lump comes to connor’s throat.

“i…” he stops. swallows. starts again. “don’t forget who taught you how to play, luke.”

lucas, giggling, rolls his eyes. “the lightning lassiter legacy.”

connor forces a smile. “damn right. now get outta my room. i want some peace.”

lucas leaves with a spring in his step, mumbling “lightning lassiter” to himself as he goes. connor can only sit, tears burning his eyes as he listens to the rain and thinks about the game that, for one reason or another, he’s most definitely going to miss.


End file.
